A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 07

Yes, I've been a bad writer and I've neglected my story. Here is the next chapter, it's lacking in the sex, but I wanted to get the plot back on track. I guess being a multi-part story, it can't be all sex all the time. Thanks for reading and the patience. I'm sorry it took so very long. Feedback is always appreciated! ~Eden

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Stella awoke refreshed and unnaturally calm. The events of the previous evening were surrounded in her memory with a mist of calm. She was alone in her bedroom, the clock reading 2:37PM. She wiggled her toes on her formerly injured foot and sighed at the pleasure of the absence of pain. The pillows on the empty side of the bed still held a slight indentation, telling of someone's body having lain on them. The smell of coffee filled her nose and she pulled her red mane up into a ponytail. She was still wearing yesterday's clothes, but the caffienated temptation was more than she could resist.

Her mysterious visitor plunged the grounds down in the press and his steady gaze met hers. She wasn't surprised by his presence, she just felt safe in it. He poured the dark drink into frothed milk in two mugs. The wine glasses from the night before shone, hanging polished and clear in the rack under her cupboard. The sparkle from them seemed nothing compared to the new vigor in her guest's eyes.

"Coffee?" his voice said, lightly.

"Please," she skimmed her tongue over her teeth and drank, "Oh, this is magical. Mmmm."

"I'm a man of many talents," he grinned into his brew as though remembering an inside joke.

"Man? After you telling me the boogey man is real, I'm wondering if that's all you are."

He sputtered into his cup, then straightened and set it down carefully as though it would bite him. She stifled a smile by sipping carefully at her own mug. Then shifted her gaze to him as seriously as she could. Her eyes demanded an answer to the silent questions filling the void between them.

"Ok then," she said to the pause, "let's start with easy questions. I remember you from when I was a child, but that's not possible. You seem so young. However, there's the whole, 'Everything is real,' thing. So how old are you?"

"That's not the easiest question to start with," he frowned.

"I have a feeling that easy is a relative thing," she rubbed at her hands, not meeting his eyes.

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, "Truth is, I have no idea on my exact age. My homeland doesn't exist anymore, it's not even really a fable it's been gone so long. "

"I'm sorry, what?" her mind spun with the implications.

"Yeah, I told you that wouldn't be the easiest place to start," he frowned.

"How are you older than your own people? What happened to your land?" her eyes were sad, this surprised him.

"It's at the bottom of the sea," he said slowly.

"What, like Atlantis?" she gasped.

"No, much smaller than Atlantis, my people were different."

"I'm sorry," she said soothingly, "It must be hard to never be able to go home."

"The ache dulls with time," he reassured her, "You've felt like this your whole life."

"Old like you, or old by human standards?" Stella realized there was a distinct difference.

"Well," he considered, "Very old by human standards, but she had the life in her, the unaging, undying."

Stella felt the need to change subject. She needed to let that soak in for a moment. So many things were reeling in her mind. He'd mentioned Guardians, Sages, Priestesses. All these questions. Immortality, lands under the sea. Her chest ached. Suddenly she realized she hadn't asked his name. She knew he'd saved her, she knew he'd been watching over her and that he knew her mother.

"I've not asked your name," she whispered.

"I've been called Caed. Caederyn," his stare bored into her.

"Caed," she tried it out, "Caed. I like that. It suits you.

He smiled and took her coffee mug to refill it and she watched his hands work. She suddenly remembered she hadn't showered and was still wearing her clothes from yesterday. He set the frothy concoctions down in front of them and she sighed. The ivory and brown liquid swirled invitingly in front of her.

"I need a shower," she said into the foam.

"I'll be right here when you get out," he encouraged.

"This latte is too good."

"Mmmm... I can always make more."

He wanted her to be comfortable, they hadn't even scratched the surface of anything. He leaned over slowly until his face was inches from her neck. Her heart leapt at the nearness, she saw the flecks in his eyes and she sat, stock still. He then made an exaggerated sniffing sound, and she flushed and giggled. Tossing a dish towel at his face has he pulled back quickly, smirking.

She stood up and grabbed her bathrobe and a towel from her bedroom. Then she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Divesting herself of the fabric, she let them fall to the floor. Then she stooped over quickly and shoved them into the hamper. She looked at herself for a moment, raking through the auburn strands of her hair and the realization hit her. She is not who she thought. The world is not what she thought. She will never be the same again. Staring into the hard mercury of her own eyes, the ghost of his scent passed through her memory and she shook the thought out of her mind. The room had filled with steam and she stepped into the hot streams. They stung her in just the right way. She purred with relief as she washed last night off her.

Once she worked shampoo and conditioner into ther hair, she began to lather her body. Her hands paused before she touched her flower and she thought of Georgia's tongue and the path it blazed and she was suddenly disgusted with herself. What on Earth was she thinking? Why had she allowed herself to be swayed like that? She scrubbed between her legs almost harshly and rinsed the conditioner from her hair. A thought from her night with the girl came to her, a memory of two slashed scars across the shoulder bones. She'd barely noticed, but the ping of something hit the back of her mind. She filed it away and dried off. She wrapped the towel around her head, twisted it up and shrugged the white robe on.

Stella exited the bathroom on a cloud of vanilla spiced vapor. Caed couldn't help but notice the smell as she paused at the door to her bedroom. She looked at him and his eyes caught hers. Silver melting into jade. She bowed her head a little as she broke the gaze and ducked into her bedroom. His breath caught and he silently chastised himself. Still, he found himself closing his eyes and bask in her fragrance for as long as he could.

"Sorry about that," she said as she came out of the bedroom, rubbing leftover lotion into her hands, "I tried to be quick."

"No, you were, that's fine, I mean," he furrowed his brows.

"Do you," she started, suddenly feeling awkward, "are you hungry?"

"I could eat, but we really need to talk," he locked eyes on her, willing himself not to look like the kind of hungry he really was all of a sudden.

"We could order something, there's a great vegetarian place, or pizza?" she rushed to fill the space left in the conversation.

"I could make something," he offered.

"You cook? I mean, of course you cook. You're like a million years old or something," then it hit her. She'd just believed what he had said about her mother. She'd found it more acceptable that he was really an ancient person and her Mom was magical than to call bullshit on the whole thing. Something about him was truth and mystery.

"You're wondering why you believe it all, why you believe me," he said.

"I, well, yes. Yes I am. But how do you know that?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I can feel the general shape of your thoughts. It isn't mind reading, but I can sense the gist of things up there," he pointed at her head.

"What about," she breathed, "in here?"

He let his line of sight drop to her hand. She was indicating her heart. He felt profoundly sad and he sighed heavily. Stepping towards her, he took her hand and held it in his for the slightest moment and let it drop back to her side. She looked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"That isn't something I ever mastered," he said quietly his hand almost on fire where he had touched her skin.

"Oh," she sounded slightly disappointed, "I don't think I even know what's in there anymore."

When he woke, his apartment was silent the chains in a pile on the floor. He wondered for a moment if he had dreamed the whole thing when he saw her corset still on the floor where she had dropped it. The fruity, sweet/sharp scent of her still lingered on the sheets a little and his head swam. He still tasted her on his lips and rather than jump up to scour the bedroom and his skin, he just sat there in a daze. He wondered how this entire thing would change his plans with his obsession across the road. He wondered why the woman wanted her too. Unrestricted access? What could she possibly want?

He smelled his hands and licked his lips. Then he stood and that's when he noticed the blood on the sheets. It wasn't blood from his back, but rather this was a few spots mixed with the dried pool of their coupling. He felt his prick twitch. He felt powerful having made her bleed a little. She was something not entirely human with her power to sear the cuffs from his hands and how she had seemed to control enough wind to propel him forward while he was shackled. He broke himself free of his reverie and began cleaning up from the night before. Once he stripped the sheets and remade the bed, he got into the shower.

As he stood under the scalding spray, he tried to focus on his tasks for the day. He began to feel guilty for allowing himself the indulgence of last night, but he couldn't quite explain how it had all happened. He went from hating her one minute to exploding inside her the next. He scrubbed harder and harder at his skin, resorting to scratching at the places he remembered her touching.

"You disgusting little snake," his mother shrilled in his ear, "look at the mess you've made! LICK IT OFF! You're a pervert, I'm going to cut if off if you keep sticking it in places it doesn't belong. STAND HERE AND LOOK AT ME!"

His hands were shaking. He couldn't get the whore's smell off him. Mother wouldn't have liked her. He was a failure. He couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to take his princess for his own.

"FILTHY LITTLE BASTARD!" mother shrieked.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!" he screamed and covered his ears.

"DISGUSTING LITTLE SHIT! STAND STILL AND TAKE IT!"

"NO MORE!" he cried and slammed his head into the tile wall, blood bursting around the point of contact.

His head reeled and he began to fall. Before he hit the ground he heard, "No one is ever going to want a little maggot like you. You're vile."

After a couple of hours of decsion, then preparation and joking around, the smell of mushroom stroganoff filled the kitchen. Stella watched Caed stir sour cream into the sauce, then he drained the egg noodles. She hadn't had a homecooked meal in forever and while she loved the coconut curry from her favorite Thai place, nothing could compare to the decadent aromas coming from her stove.

Conversation, so far, had been light. They talked about wine, favorite television shows and he insisted she tell him her source for the amazing mead. He got a little starry eyed and said, "I haven't had proper mead in nearly a millenia and this is the closest thing I've tried." She felt sad for him again, but he just went back to cutting mushrooms. She suddenly felt enough liquid courage to ask, probably the most ridiculous question of her life. He set her plate in front of her and he sat down across from her and began to eat.

"Goblins," she half giggled.

"Where? What?" he looked completely caught off guard by the subject change.

"Goblins? Are they real?" she made her best serious face and he laughed at her.

"Yes, and they can be a real handful," he laughed, "and they bite."

"No. Really?" she looked at the hand he offered her. There was a small semi-circular scar.

"That, right there, got infected," he inspected the mark, "Goblins have filthy mouths."

"Oh, well, I suppose that makes sense," she looked into her glass, as if in answer, he poured more, smiling at her as he did.

"So werewolves? Zombies? El Chupacabra? Fairies?" she rattled off.

"Yes. Kind of. And I'm not sure but probably . Oh and Fae. Not fairies."

"Well then," she said and put her glass down a little harder than she meant, "I feel like my head is going to explode and you're so casual about it."

"I've never had the priviledge of ignorance," he said and when she tried to glare he corrected, "By ignorance, I mean the absence of knowledge of the supernatural. When I was... young... the spiritual word, the 'supernatural' world, was just part of the world. Humans became somewhat segregated slowly. They're a very destructive and parasitic race to the natural resources of the planet. They've done terrible things to the other races who share this planet with them. Eventually, they lost their place in that world. Halflings had to choose sides and magic in human blood is pretty rare now. It used to be quite common."

"They?" she said, "So am I not a "they' or am I like you? Wait, no, I meant..."

"You," he said, "are drunk."

"But am I a they? A human?" her eyes were somewhat pleading now.

"You are the product of generations of magic. You, no, you're not completely human."

She folded her hands in her lap and she looked suddenly very small. He felt her thoughts and feelings swirl around her and he remembered having coffee in her mother's kitchen, watching her braid a tiny Stella's unruly mane. She had her hands folded the same way then as she does now, only now she was a woman and he felt a tightness in his chest he thought he would never feel again.

"Stella, we don't have to discuss all of it at once. I've been here your whole life. I'm not leaving now," he reached across the table and held his open palm out to her. She looked at it and then slowly placed one of her finely boned hands into his. The back of her neck tingled at the contact.

"It's all very mentally exhausting," he soothed, "Don't try and take it all at once."

She nodded and stood. He stood automatically, probably some old chivalrous habit. She came around to his side of the table and took his empty plate. Her lashes casting long shadows across her cheeks as he looked down at her. When she finally met his eyes, the palpable emotional energy around her blazed like a metallic fire. Her hands trembled and she dropped the plate back on the table with a thud.

"I'm sorry," she said as the spell was broken but his hand flashed out and gripped her forearm. The heat of his chest heavy against her own body, just inches away. She looked at his arm, then up to his chest. She couldn't will herself to look any higher. He lifted her chin up and she felt his even breathing hitch against her face.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," his gaze was fierce and protective and she felt herself pulling closer to him like a slow moving magnet. Just as she reached her tip toes and her nose brushed against his, the hand holding her arm moved up and stopped her face, "Now I'm the one who has to be sorry. There's still so much for you to know and as bad as I'd love to do this, I can't in good conscious do it without you being fully informed."

She sighed against his mouth, it was a sweet and torturous feeling, and her face flushed pink as she stepped away from him. She grabbed the plates up and turned away from him. He wanted to stop her to throw the plates out the window and wrap his hands around her narrow waist, to let her kiss him and the sudden agony of it was like an insatiable hunger in his chest. There was still so much more she needed to know before she hurled herself down the rabbit hole of this world she belonged in.

"Stella," he whispered.

"Don't," she said. Her voice cracking and he read the feeling of rejection and unworthiness hanging from her like a great weight.

"I want to hold you so desperatly. I never expected it to be like this. I never expected you to be so... right. Please Stella, trust me. Everything will make sense soon enough, I swear it."

She scubbed the plates off with an iron demeanor and then looked him square in the eyes, "If taking it all in at once is what I have to do, then fine. Tell me everything. Ruin me with the truth of whatever it is if you have to." He went to the box and handed her the parchments.

"These are the key to your understanding."

" I. CANNOT. READ. THOSE!" she tried to rip the into shreds but they wouldn't give, she pulled and pulled and then collapsed on the ground under the enormity of it all. He went to her, unsure of how to comfort her without touching her. She just kept pulling at the fragile looking sheets, getting nowhere with her frenzy. Tears streamed down her face and she finally felt her resolve and composure break.

"Stupid thing," she stood in the door of the bathroom glaring down at him on the floor, blood coating the tile wall in a circle about the size of her palm, it's source trickled down his face.

With a sigh, she turned the water off, clamped her apple in her mouth and dragged the rest of him out of the tub. Being as strong as she was compared to a human was fine, but getting leverage when you're as tiny as she is... it's a challenge. She finally got her arms under his knees and around the back of his shoulders and unceremoniously dumped him on the bed. He began to come to, but she gave him a sharp slap for good measure.

"You're an idiot," she said and he glared at her.

"You're ruining everything," he hissed and gingerly touched his forehead.

"How so?" she mockingly pouted.

"You and your seduction shit," he spat.

"You act like I did everything all on my own," she straddled him.

"Get off," he said as she ground against him.

"Gladly," she said and ground harder, moaning a little.

"I mean it!" he shoved at the iron vice of her minute body.

"Say please," she growled, tightening her grip around his bones.

"Get. Off."

"Please?" she tightened more, watching for his face to betray the pain he was in.

"Please. Get off, get out. I'm going to take her and you won't ever get to her. You'll never find us."

"I don't think so, my pet," inside her fist began to glow and with a puff, she blew whatever it was in his face.

His body thrashed a little, like a seizure or convulsion and he was still. She unmounted herself from him and sat at the desk. She began reading his journal of the girl's comings and goings, the entries were punctuated with drawings. The most recent drawing in the journal was a rather realistic sketch of Stella's pussy. Her prone form a background to the piece, obviously oblivious to the world, but it was a startling likeness of the bloom between her legs. The entry mentioned his aborted mission to her place, the feeling of wrongness and being unable to enter the building. Her finger released the ringlet she had been tugging on and she hissed a little through her teeth. This was very certainly a problem. She was naively hoping there was no guardian to contend with other than her witchy friend. The order still watched over her. This was both fantastic and terrible. She must truly be the key after all. She was glad she didn't just drain the girl the other night and call it a day. She will never be what she was, but this was a whole other world of possibility. The scars on her back ached and her heart leapt at the whole new journey she was about to undertake.